Lacrimosa
by LuxaLucifer
Summary: "You hate picking flowers," I said suddenly, remembering something from long ago. "Or...at least you did." She smiled again, and it was brilliant. "I still do." Maedhros/Idril Friendship Fic


Disclaimer- You know.

I decided to challenge myself and write about a character I never really think about; Idril. That, combined with that fact I'd never seen any fics with interactions between her and Maedhros made me write this fic. Slight, one time, unnamed allusion to Maedhros/Fingon. Rated for mentions of torture. :)

Maedhros- Maitimo, Russandol

Idril- Itarille

Findekano- Fingon

Findarato- Finrod

Nolofinwe- Fingolfin

I think that's everyone. :)

* * *

For once, it was not a nightmare that woke me. I did not scream so loud that I woke myself or find myself shivering in the night, blankets clutched around me as though they could save me from the demons of the night. I was woken by the sounds of a window being opened and muffled swearing.

I pulled myself into a sitting position and rubbed my eyes with my left hand, blinking them open to see a crumpled heap of something that may have been a girl fall through the window.

"About time!" said the heap.

Upon closer inspection, the heap was probably around her late sixties, fully mature in body but still in adolescent in mind (assuming I was remembering how it worked correctly, which was not always the case these days). She stood up and brushed off her gown, which, in addition to being an unflattering brown color, was now ripped in several places. Her golden hair, which had been in a ponytail at some point was now hanging loose around her shoulders, accentuating her heart-shaped face. She was not wearing shoes.

"Your window takes forever to open from the outside," she said.

"Noted," I replied.

"Also, you're a very sound sleeper."

I hesitated. "Sometimes."

She frowned, furrowing her brow and crossing her arms. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"I am sorry," I said, feeling rather terrible about it. "I have been gone for a long time. No excuse, I know, but there it is."

She examined me critically. "Atar was right. You _do_ look terrible."

Those words brought another visit to mind, a visit from a large, surly (Findekáno told me afterwards that Elenwë died on the ice, and so I do not blame him for his surliness) cousin who had spoken only one sentence the entire time; _'You look terrible.'_

"Itarillë?" I gasped. "It cannot be!"

This large gasp seemed to wind me, and I slumped back against the headboard, exhausted. She watched this with concern and approached me quickly, clasping my large, bony hand with her two tiny ones. Mine looked even worse encased in her delicate fingers; the bones looked as though they were going to burst out of the skin while thick, pink scars ran the length of it.

"Forgive me if I have intruded on you," she pleaded. "But Atar wouldn't let me visit you, not even once, so I _had_ to come see you, especially after I found out you refused to burn the boats, which I couldn't have done, I could never have stood up to my Atar like that."

"I am not upset," I said. "Indeed, I am touched that you wanted to see me."

"You were always kind back...back _there_," she said, suddenly shy. "You always played with me, no matter what you were doing. No one else was like that."

I smiled. "I have always loved children," I admitted.

I did not say Moringotto tortured me with that love; he would bring Avari children to my arms and then burn them and break them until they were dead and ruined and I was nearly drowned in my tears. She would not have wanted to hear.

'But," I added. "You are no child, not anymore. I regret not being able to watch you to grow into the beautiful young lady you have become."

She blushed. "Even though I climb through windows?"

"_Especially_ because you climb through windows."

"I must go," she said, sounding worried. "Atar will miss me; I told him I was picking flowers."

"You hate picking flowers," I said suddenly, remembering something from long ago. "Or...at least you did."

She smiled again, and it was brilliant. "I still do. Surely Atar will soon remember that and begin to look for me. Would you mind if I came again?"

"Not at all," I said. I meant it.

She climbed back out the window and waved before bounding off to find her father.

I did not expect her to come back, but I left the window open all the same.

* * *

She did come back. She didn't wear shoes for her second visit either. I remembered that about her now. I had been thinking about her a lot lately. I didn't feel too guilty about that; I didn't exactly have much to think about.

"I brought you an apple," she said as she scrambled through the open window. She held it out in her hand, a careful offering.

"Bring it closer," I said, hating to admit my weakness. "I cannot yet walk."

She flushed and handed it to me. Even though I wasn't especially hungry, I took a bite.

"This is wonderful," I said in surprise. "I didn't expect it to be so good."

"That's because they're not feeding you..." she began, then turned a deeper shade of red.

"They're not feeding me what?" I asked, images rising of the food Morgoth fed me, food that appeared wholesome but tasted worse than terrible, vile, poisonous food that twisted my stomach and soured my already fitful sleep there. It had always tasted worse coming back up.

"They're not feeding you the good food," she mumbled, her eyes on the floor. "Just the leftovers and the stuff that's nearly bad. I heard the servants talking about it."

I laughed. Her eyes shot up at me in surprise.

"I never noticed," I said truthfully. "Oh, Itarillë, you cannot imagine the joy I felt when I first tasted what they fed me. If it is the dregs of their larders, so be it. It is more than enough for me."

I took another bite of the apple while she gaped at me.

She tentatively sat on the edge of my bed, looking at me as though she were afraid I might reprimand her.

"You're fine," I said between a mouthful of apple.

"I won't hurt you?"

"No."

My legs were still so thin that they didn't take up even half the space, although they'd had to lengthen the bed because of my height.

"Why do you do that?" she asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"The way you chew. Only on the right side of your mouth."

"You can't tell?" I asked curiously.

She shook her head.

I swallowed the last of the apple in my mouth and set the rest on the bed so I could pull my cheek back and show her the large gap where my teeth should be.

"Woah," she said, sounding more impressed than appalled. "There's just a big hole! How many are you missing?"

"Eight," I said, recalling what the healer had whispered. "I can still chew on the other side, though. It doesn't really bother me."

"Did it hurt?" she asked, leaning forward eagerly.

It occurred to me that, although she could see my painful thinness and my crooked nose and my three facial scars (only three, Findekáno had exclaimed in seeming wonder, as though the few number of three could make up for the way they traversed my entire face), she could not see the bulk of my scars, covered by bandages and blankets as they were.

"Yes," I said, for I did not believe in lying to the young. If memory served, I never had. "They were broken during a beating, and then pulled to maximize the pain."

I expected her to fall silent and look at her hands, but she did not. She met my eyes and said, "You're very strong, uncle."

I didn't know what to say. So I said, "Oh."

She laughed and said, "I have to go. I'll come back as soon as I can, okay?"

"I hope I didn't-"

"-scare me off? You didn't, don't worry. Uncle Finderáto wants me for a game, although I think he's trying to trick me into another harp lesson."

She made a face that left me absolutely no doubt as to how she felt about harp lessons. _'Macalaurë would be horrified,' _I thought. Then I felt sick, because I still hadn't seen my brothers and didn't know what they would think of me.

"Have fun," I said. It sounded fairly pathetic to my ears, but she smiled brightly and waved as she jumped out the window.

I finished the apple, core and all.

* * *

"I told you I would be back."

"I believed you this time."

"Oh, good," she said, smiling. "I was beginning to worry you never would."

"I am sorry about that," I said sheepishly. "Only...I find it difficult to believe many things these days."

"That's not exactly _your_ fault," she said candidly, perching herself on the end of my bed and tucking her legs under her.

That's what I liked about Itarillë. She wasn't afraid to talk about what had happened to me. Findekáno, the healers, even Nolofinwë on his rare visits, they all skittered around the subject like wild animals. Contrary to their beliefs, I had no qualms with the subject. It wasn't like not talking about my torment was going to make it go away.

"I have been meaning to talk to you about something," I said slowly. "Soon I will be transferred to my brothers' camp and finish my rehabilitation there. I am afraid that soon it will be difficult for us to talk."

"Oh, _that's_ what you're worried about?"

She never ceased to surprise me.

"I had thought," I said clumsily. "That you also enjoyed your visits here. I am sorry to have assumed."

"No, you poor idiot," she said patiently, while my face burned red under the scars. "Our camps really aren't that far apart. Sure, I won't be able to visit you as often, but I'll still be able to come."

"They're not?"

I had thought, what with the way Findekáno talked about the other camp, that they were at opposite sides of the lake, or nearly so. It was jolting to learn otherwise.

"No, they're barely an hour's walk from each other," she informed me. "So I'll still be able to come visit. Good news, huh?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Very good news."

"You don't get a lot of visitors, do you?" she said, looking around at the sparse, empty room with distaste.

"Er...no," I admitted. "Findekáno spends the evenings here, but he has duties, and the healers stop by and help me in the mornings, but I spend most of the day alone."

"Do you think that'll change in your own camp?"

My camp. It had not been _my_ camp for a very long time.

"Yes and no," I said. "I'll have more brothers to keep me company, but I suspect it will end up being much like it is here. There will grow weary of coddling me and will return to their duties."

"Well," she said cheerfully. "I have no duties, unless you count feeding the chickens, which I do for fun anyway. So I'll never stop visiting you."

"That is..." I said slowly, searching for the right words. "...extremely comforting."

I meant it.

* * *

"You are rather muddy."

She laughed, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand. I decided not to point out that she was spreading the mud around.

"I know," she said. "But there was a shortcut through the mud, so I decided to go through it."

"All this to see me?"

She grinned sheepishly, and I grinned back, not caring that it exposed those eight missing teeth my brothers had lamented over. They had been doing a lot of lamenting lately, my brothers. Mostly over my hand, but they took time to lament over my teeth, my voice, my ears, my scars, even my lack of fingernails. Macalaurë was quite good at it, what with all the 'It's my fault's and 'I should have come after you's. He had the voice for it.

She pulled up a chair, as my bed was too small as it was. They had given my first bed away years ago, to a family that had lost nearly everyone in it at Alqualondë; one of the surviving members had apparently been exceptionally tall, and had needed a bed. My brothers had lamented over this too, and had even gone so far as to suggest finding the family and taking it back, which I told them was out of the question.

"What's been going on in your camp?" I asked.

"Everyone's a lot quieter now that you're gone," she said. "Especially Findekáno. Even Atar is though; I think they all miss you. They liked being able to see you get better."

"Don't tell my brothers," I said quietly. "But I liked it better over there."

She beamed.

"What's new with you?" she asked politely.

"My brothers are still fawning over me," I sighed. "Complete with tremendous guilt complexes."

"They _did _leave you to death and torment at the hands of Morgoth."

"Yes, and they never let me forget it, either."

"Are you mad at them?" she asked quickly, as though getting it out faster would make the question less personal.

"No," I said. "I am not. I find it hard to be mad at anyone right now, even those who hate me, for I find it to be a joy just being alive and free. They did not torture me; Moringotto did. I think they forget that sometimes."

"They _are _boys," she said sagely. "What can you expect?"

I nodded in agreement. There was a pleasant silence. We didn't always need to talk to enjoy each other's company.

"I must speak with your father," I said finally. She looked at me in surprise.

"Boy," she said. "I hope you're not asking for my hand in marriage."

"Er," I said. "I hope I did not leave that impression."

"You didn't," she said. "It was a joke."

"Oh, good," I sighed. "You know...I am in love with..."

"I know," she said. "Everyone knows. Grandfather knows. Both camps know. He practically sings it to the sky."

"He was never subtle."

"No," she agreed. "He was not."

"But," I pressed, getting back to the topic at hand. "I must tell your father about your visits."

Why?" she said, sounding panicked. "Don't you like them?"

"Yes! Of course! And I fear that if he figures out where you are going, he was suspect me of ill intentions, which is not the case. I do not think I could lose your visits, and I would like to make them more frequent, if possible, which can only be done if I talk to him."

"...If you must," she said, but she was smiling.

This time, she pecked me on the cheek before she left. I didn't mind.

* * *

"I've never walked through the door of one of your rooms before," she remarked as she stepped inside. "It's different."

"But hopefully not too unpleasant," I said, stretching my legs over the side of my bed. I was restless to be moving, but the healers said my bones had not completely healed yet. I believed and trusted them, but it was hard to keep from attempting to walk.

"No, not unpleasant."

"Good."

"Atar made me wear shoes though."

"How terrible," I said, laughing.

"I...I have something for you."

I noticed then that her arms were concealing something behind her back. My curiously piqued, I asked, "What is it?"

"I would have given it to you before, but I was worried it would get dirty while I climbing through windows, plus I was afraid that you would think..."

"Think what?"

Itarillë shuffled her feet and blushed crimson. "Think me silly, and your present dumb."

"I promise I will do no such thing."

She shoved the present out in front of her and looked away, still red.

"Itarillë, that's..."

I recognized it. How could I not? It was her stuffed deer, the one she had carried everywhere when she was young. I could not believe she still had it, had kept it with her all the way across the Helcaraxë. And now she was giving it to me?

"I know, it's stupid," she mumbled.

"Bring it here," I said softly, my throat tight. "Oh, Itarillë...why are you..."

She hand my the stuffed deer, and I placed it in my lap and stroked its threadbare head.

"Mamil made it for me," she said, so softly I had to strain to hear her. "Because I had nightmares when I was little, and she thought it might be nice to have someone to hold when I was scared. I know you have nightmares too, and while I'm sure mine can't compare to yours, I thought...you know, the principle is probably the same, but it was dumb of me, you don't have to.."

"Oh, you precious girl," I said, tears threatening to spill. "You wonderful woman. Thank you. This means so much to me."

"Does it really?" she asked, biting her lip. "Do you mean it?"

"Everyone insists on giving me wine and books and clothes," I said. "No one thought that I might just like someone to hold. No one except you."

That's when I broke down and started crying, but, for once, I wasn't ashamed, for they were tears of joy, and she cried too.

* * *

"Wow, Maitimo," she said, hopping on my bed while I hobbled to the wall opposite. "You can walk all the way across the room now."

"Next I'll be throwing down Angband," I said breathlessly, leaning against the wall. "And reclaiming all of Beleriand as our own."

"If anyone could do it," she said seriously. "You could."

"I was joking," I replied as I limped back across the room.

"I know," she replied, swinging her legs back and forth. "But I still think you could do it."

I collapsed back onto the bed, hating my weakness. Sweat dripped from my forehead in rivulets, and I reached for something to wipe my face with.

"Could you..."

"Yes?" she asked eagerly.

"Do you think you could tie back my hair for me? It's hot in here," I said.

"Of course," she said, and before I could hand her a hair tie she had untied her own blond tresses and reached for my tangled mess, tying it back swiftly and deftly, her fingers brushing against my ears as she did so.

"Russandol," she said. "What happened to your ears?"

"The same that's happened to the rest of my body," I said, my face burning with shame. "Like the rest of me, they have been ruined."

"Russandol, don't...that's not true!" she chastised, hitting me on the chest, harder than any of my brothers would currently dare do. "You're not ruined, not at all. you're getting better. It takes time."

"Ah, yes," I said, not wanting to be disagreeable.

"Still..." she said. "I can't believe they cut your ears."

"They did it early on," I said, remembering. "Don't go for the face, they said, but the ears were fair game. They made me..."

I trailed off, because she didn't need to hear the rest, not because she was a woman or an adolescent, but because no one needed to know that they had forced me to watch as they had roasted my ears on the fire and then made me eat them, the first real food I had had in many months.

"I know what you're thinking about," she said. "And I won't tell you not to think about it. I'm not you. I don't know what it was like."

"Hmm."

She changed tactics. "Your hearing is still good, right?"

"Mostly," I said. "It's a little muffled, but don't tell anyone. I don't want people to think I can't lead. I don't like it when people come a visit and think they need to whisper around me, because it's really difficult to hear them then. I've never had any problem with you."

She laughed. "I doubt you ever would. Atar says I am the loudest child he has had ever known."

"He didn't live with a young Macalaurë," I said, smiling. "When he wasn't singing he was crying, and vice versa. And I hardly think you are a child anymore, Itarillë."

"You don't?"

"No," I said. "And I have told you this before. My opinion will not change. You are a vibrant young woman who can make her own decisions. That's what I told your father when I was convincing him to let you visit me."

"Really?" she said, sounding delighted.

"Really."

* * *

"Are you writing? Let me see!"

I groaned but dutifully handed her the paper as she walked in, wincing as she grinned at my childish handwriting.

"Didn't they used to say your handwriting was super elegant?" she asked, examining the clumsy scrawl. "Back in Valinor."

She'd named it. She hadn't done so before, not in a single one of our visits. She's always skirted around the word Valinor. Maybe she too was beginning to come to terms with things.

"Yes," I grumbled. "No one's every going to say _that_ again. I have a feeling people will see my writing and choose not to comment."

She shrugged. "Who cares what people think?"

She lapsed into silence and I waited for her to say what was on her mind. I knew what it was; she was just trying to find a way to phrase it.

"I think you did the right thing," she said, her voice calm but not quiet. She was never quiet around me, not since she had learned that it wasn't what I needed. "At the feast. I know your brothers don't like it, and I'm not just saying it because it means my family's happy, but...oh, I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you beforehand," I said. "I didn't tell anyone. I was afraid what they would say."

"Were you afraid of what I would say?"

"Not so much," I admitted, finding myself smiling once again. I never had trouble smiling when I was around Itarillë. "I just needed to think about it alone."

"You would have made a great king," she said. "In other circumstances."

"I know," I said, making her laugh. "I'm perfectly aware that if my father hadn't burned the ships and left you to make that horrible journey, and had still died, that my kingship would be totally valid. But that isn't the case now, so I took the only logical course of action."

"I see," she mused. "What do you plan to do now?"

"Finish recovering and move north, so I can prevent my brothers from getting themselves into yet more quarrels," I said. "I am afraid we must part soon, my friend. Your father will have other plans."

"I know," she said, setting my practice handwriting down and taking my large hand into her small ones as she had done many months ago. "I will miss you."

"And I will miss you," I replied. "But it will not be goodbye. You have been a friend to me like no other, and I will never forget it."

She pulled on my scarred hand. "Come, let's go take a walk," she said cheerfully. "It is a good day to walk without shoes."

"For you,_ every_ day is a good day to walk without shoes."

"It always is!"

I looked out the window and said, "I think you maybe right about today. It is almost painfully beautiful outside."

Stretching and cracking my joints, I clambered to my feet and, hand in hand, we took a walk.

* * *

Tuor glanced at his wife and smiled. "No shoes?"

Idril grinned back. "After all these years, you still ask?"

She lifted her skirts to reveal bare feet and stepped onto the boat her husband, ingenious man that he was, had built.

"My lady!"

She turned to see a messenger running up to them, out of breath a carrying a package.

"Oh, thank goodness, it would have been awful if this hadn't made it to you..."

Tuor and Idril exchanged glances.

"What is it?" Idril asked.

"It's for you," panted the messenger, holding out the box. "From one of the Fëanorians. It took a long time to get here, I am told. Many messengers have carried it here."

"Are they demanding the Silmaril?" demanded Tuor, annoyed. "Why ask us? We do not possess it."

The messenger shook his head and quickly departed.

"Calm down, dear one," soothed Idril breaking open the packing to find several layers of blankets protecting the gift. "It's from Maedhros. He knows better."

"Oh, does he?" growled Tuor. "After Doriath, he_ knows_ better?"

But his wife did not reply. She had reached the center of the packaging and discovered, with a cry of wonder, the stuffed deer inside.

"What is that?" asked Tuor, peering over her shoulder. "A deer? It looks very old."

"It is," Idril whispered. "Very old indeed."

With shaking fingers, she picked up the note still lying in the box. With clumsy, childish handwriting, it read:

_'Dear Itarillë,_

_She has helped me through many nightmares, and I can never thank you enough for her. However, with news that you would soon be departing Beleriand, I decided her needs were above mine and that it was time for her to finally return home. _

_Please find it within yourself to forgive me for Doriath. I have no excuses._

_May you forever be kind to those who need it,_

_Russandol.'_

Idril clutched the deer to her chest and gave Tuor a watery smile.

"Come," she said to her baffled husband. "Let us go."

"Idril?"

"I have said my goodbyes."

* * *

Reviews are love! :)


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